


I thought I saw the devil (I'll be good, I'll be good)

by RavensandWritingDesks2714



Series: Relief and Understanding [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Ashley what are you doing to me?, Campaign 2 (Critical Role), Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Dissociation, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I just had a lot of feelings regarding episode 89 so basically here they are, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Missing Scene, Obann is a warning all on his own, Other, Panic Attacks, Sort Of, episode 89 spoilers, no beta we die like men, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:02:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21894070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavensandWritingDesks2714/pseuds/RavensandWritingDesks2714
Summary: She'll be alright. She has to be.
Series: Relief and Understanding [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1577107
Comments: 3
Kudos: 88





	1. You're so cold (it's alright, keep your hand in mine)

**Author's Note:**

> ****Do be warned that, while not graphic, there is mentions of blood and death in this fic and vaguely suicidal thoughts, as well as mental health issues such as dissociation and panic attacks, as well as unhealthy coping mechanisms and Obann's general Obann-ness.****
> 
> If you haven't watched the latest episode (89), Do Not Read This Fic!!!
> 
> Ok so this is my first Critical Role fic as an avid follower of the show. I had sort of self-imposed a rule that I would read the fanfiction for this fandom (carefully) but would not write any myself as there was this fine line between Real People and The Characters, and it felt weird to me. 
> 
> And then episode 88 happened and weakened my resolve. And then episode 89 happened, and well, I broke. (I spent several portions of the episode screaming silently into my pillow at 2 am.) I have way too many feelings to fully articulate, but here's a stab at it. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy! Come scream with me in the comments, or PM to avoid spoiling for others. 
> 
> \- Raven

The first rule that Yasha decides upon her return to the Mighty Nein is that she can not apologize.

It is not that she is not sorry- she is. She is so, so full of regret and sorrow for all of the things that she has done to them…the pain that she has caused them. But she can not apologize because if she apologizes it will be _real,_ and she wants, more than anything, for it not to be real.

The words come clawing out of her anyway, when the door to the cottage room closes behind them and it is just her, and Beau and Jester.

“Beau I….”

Beau stops with her arms halfway above her head, her cobalt blue eyes framed by the _Cobalt_ blue of her robes and—

“Would you like to borrow my shawl?” She rasps out, eyes locked on the rust brown stains tearing the front of the brilliant blue, the blood that she put there. The monks that ran screaming from her, screaming towards her, falling in front of her and how many of them had Beau known? How many had taught her and been tormented by her and laughed with her and cared for her and---

“Yash?”

She blinks, comes back to herself. Flushes, just a little, at the peculiar look in the younger woman’s eyes.

“It is just…it might get cold tonight,” she offers lamely -- _I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I didn’t want to kill them, I know how much they meant to you_ \-- and something quick and pained flashes through Beau’s eyes before it is gone. Or perhaps that is just her mind, playing cruel tricks.

“Nah, thanks,” Beau says, grinning as she shrugs the rest of her stained robes off, so there is just the simple wraps underneath. Even those are stained, but Yasha can’t bring herself to say anything. “I’m used to a little cold, I’ll be alright.”

She pauses a moment, then continues with a sideways look towards Jester, who is making her own preparations by the bed. “Besides, it can’t possibly get any worse than that ice dragon’s breath.”

Jester meets Beau’s look with a slight grin of her own, and Yasha blinks, thrown. An ice dragon? When was this? There is so much that she is missing, yet again, and this time, it is more than her own life she has lost track of. There is a whole new world here that she has to re-navigate, has to understand. Fjord’s new (old?) accent, his newfound lack of inner turmoil and grief. (The suspicion in his eyes when he looks at her that even his newfound peace can not mask.)

Jester’s own, hidden grief, that Yasha had known existed since the slavers, ( _since **Molly** ) _but which had at least been better hidden than it was now. Caleb’s increased inner turmoil, so much for his body that it is spilling to the outside in the tremble of his hands and the tight, blank looks on his face. (Blank even, when he looks at her.) Caduceus was, as far as she could briefly tell, more or less the same, but there is a slight weariness in even his eyes. (A bit more _knowing_ in his gaze when he looks at her.)

Beau, and the tight way she seems to be holding herself, the way she seems to be trying to reign herself in. (The guilt? The fear? The _pain_ in her eyes when she looks at her.) Nott, and the way she holds herself, so big and bright and confident. ( _Brave,_ brave even despite the looks the Assembly and the rest of the Empire folk give her. Brave and yet, Yasha can see the uncertainty in the sideways looks the goblin gives her.)

It is all so much, and it is so _unfair_ , that all of that had been given to her. Taken from her. That she had lost her first tribe, her first family, and had her second taken away before she could truly get to know them. Had her third forced away and twisted before her eyes. And yet still, there is a part of her that hisses that isn’t this what she deserves? Her birthright has never been anything by destruction, but pain and loss and grief.

 _Orphan Maker_.

And suddenly the room is too small and there is the rattling, rasping hiss of laughter in her ears, echoing and warping over and over until it sounds like a cry, sounds like the bark of Obann’s laugh, sounds like a wail, sounds like a _scream._

She is screaming.

She had been screaming.

The realization comes to her slowly, as she takes in the wide, pale expressions of her companions. Takes in the staff hanging loosely from Beau’s fingertips, as if she’d reached for it as an instinct, and then dropped it as an afterthought. The holy symbol, clutched so tightly in Jester’s hands that Yasha half-expects to see it branded to her skin when it falls from her grasp. The slight shadow of green? The illusion of green, hovering just there, at the tiefling’s shoulder.

“Yasha?”

Jester’s voice is high with concern and fear, and cracks halfway through, and Yasha has the sudden, distinct memory of stone doors grinding achingly closed to the wrenching, breaking sound of _“Yasha!”_

“Yasha.”

Jester says it again, only this time it is rougher, deeper and hoarse and oh. It is Beau. The woman’s eyes are bright even in the dim light of the room; bright and determined. Yasha had held onto that look in Beau’s eyes for as long as could while with Obann. Would remember awkward chatter by the fire pit and the reckless way she launched herself into battle. The fierceness with which she lived and laughed and loved. She would imagine what look Beau might wear when coming to kill Obann. (When coming to kill _her._ )

“You’re alright,” Beau says, and her voice is firm despite the way she trembles, and Yasha is grateful for the almost familiar way it sounds like a command instead of a question.

“You’re alright,” she says again, perhaps sensing her relief, and the tension eases out of Yasha’s shoulders, her wings easing away with it.

“You’re _alright_ ,” Beau says once more, and Yasha slumps back onto her bedroll on the floor, suddenly exhausted.

“Beau?” She hears Jester ask, voice small and terrified in the silence.

“She’s alright,” Beau snaps through the sighing of the sheets. “She’s _going to be_ alright. We’ll make sure of it.”

“Right,” Jester says weakly, and Yasha feels a pang of something hot and desperate at the lilt in her voice.

She decides then that her second rule is this:

She will be alright.

She _has_ to be.


	2. Change my attempt at good intentions (Could I? Should I?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Please,' she thinks, tears slipping down her cheeks. Rain soaking through her clothes and her armor. 'I want to go with you. Please, let me go with you.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet. I mean painful.

The first time Yasha steps out into the street under her own power, she almost doesn’t make it. She follows the rest of the Mighty Nein in a daze, and only realizes she is out on the street when she sees the cobblestones beneath her feet. Then she freezes, panic clawing through her throat and chest and stomach. Her hands go down by her sides and her jaw clenches so hard it aches, as she waits for the white hot pain and Obann’s crooning, scolding: _“I didn’t say you could go that way, Orphan Maker.”_

“Yasha?”

It is…it’s… _twangy, comforting drawl…_ no… _sharper, clearer, a bit ‘neater’ to hear_ …Fjord.

She doesn’t know if she says his name or not, but he is staring at her closely when she brings her eyes up to him, concern and no small amount of suspicion on his face.

 _She opens her mouth_. She does not open her mouth. She hadn’t been told that she could.

 _She takes a step_. Pain flares bright behind her eyes and she freezes, hands clenching at her sides.

 _Please_ , she thinks, tears slipping down her cheeks. Rain soaking through her clothes and her armor. _I want to go with you. Please, let me go with you._

Something flickers in Fjord’s expression. Whether it is understanding or not, Yasha does not know. Only that he sets his jaw, and jerks his head.

“Keep up.”

Her body loosens, limbs back in her possession and she moves quickly after him, letting the rain wash away the rest of her, leaving _The Orphan Maker_ back at the church behind them.


	3. There's a riot in my head (all the bad decisions)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She needs something to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That fight. 
> 
> Ashley, what the fuck? 
> 
> You just got back, what do you mean you're making us *feel things?*

She needs something to do.

They have been in this city, Rexxentrum, for what feels like days, but which Yasha has been informed is actually only a day. Then she remembers that _she_ has in fact, been here for days, and she wants to claw the skin from her body.

She needs something to _do_.

She waits for them to give her an order. To give her a weapon. Not her blade, Magician’s Judge. But Skin Gorger, the rusted, twisted, brutal thing she has become.

_She needs something to do._

She waits for them to point her towards who to kill. Waits for the pain that comes when she refuses. Waits for the screams. Waits for the blood. Waits for the tears.

 **_She needs_ ** **\---**

“Pit fight!”

The words stir something inside of her that hasn’t existed for days _weeks_ months. She remembers how much _fun_ fighting was, how much of a challenge. Before _“Welcome to my unstoppable family, Orphan Maker,”_ before _“kill these worms for me, won’t you dear?”_ Before _“You are **mine** , Orphan Maker. Don’t you forget that.” _

She needs---

* * *

Blood pools warm and sour in her mouth and she _smiles_.

_Is that the best you can do?_

She wonders what her dwarven opponent sees, wonders what thoughts go through her head when she throws herself onto Yasha’s back and claws with her fingers, raking fresh blood across her face.

_Go on, harder. That’s it._

She wonders what her rage feels like. If it is hot, and heady, suffocating as it drowns out everything else. Or if it is cold, and isolating. Relentless as it covers over her true feelings.

_Show me why you’re called the champion. Prove to me…_

Prove what? That she is worth the attention of a god? That even now, her strength is more than simply physical? That this is something intentional? Something that she wants? Obann had received his punishment, was nothing more than a dark stain of goop on a cracked, stone floor. And Yasha? What was Yasha now? What did _she_ get now?

_The dwarf’s expression falters. Something in her eyes flicker at the lack of a fight Yasha puts up. Something terrified and desperate creeps through the blaze of fury and for a moment Yasha fears that she won’t continue. That she won’t end it._

Prove to me…

_That she is more than just a blade. More than just her weapon. Prove that Obann was wrong, that she is not unstoppable._

Prove…

_That she deserves this._

As the final blow lands, as she falls to the sand and the air is knocked from her lungs even as they begin to fill with fluid, the smile blooms across Yasha’s face in relief because she knows.

_Beau’s blood, slick on the blade, on her hands._

She deserves this.

_The monks’ blood on her face._

She deserves this.

_Blood on her teeth, on her lips, on her tongue._

She deserves this.


End file.
